


Slave to Your Games

by kiss_me_cassie



Category: Leverage, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Circus Performer Clint Barton, Complicated Relationships, Consensual Kink, Crossover, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Partnership, Past Relationship(s), Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 23:14:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15568479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiss_me_cassie/pseuds/kiss_me_cassie
Summary: "I gotta stop meeting up with you like this. My partners are starting to wonder," Eliot said."What do you tell them?""I don't," he said gruffly."But surely they have some idea when you come home…" Clint paused and then gestured vaguely to Eliot's battered back. "Like this."





	Slave to Your Games

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Telaryn and Kali for reminding me at various times that this idea merited some exploration and to finish the fic when otherwise it would have turned into just another abandoned WIP. It turned out to be a lot less smutty and a lot more angsty than I initially intended, but I regret nothing.
> 
> Thanks also to crazy4orcas, who makes all my fics better in so many ways.

"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," Eliot shouted hoarsely as he came, his voice muffled by the pillow he had his face buried in. 

Clint didn't slow down. He kept pounding into Eliot over and over and over - even when Eliot flinched at the now unwelcome pressure - until he was on the brink of coming.

Then he pulled out and shot his load all over the coarse motel bed sheets before collapsing next to Eliot, his breathing harsh from exertion. He closed his eyes and concentrated on relaxing his muscles and getting his breathing back to normal. 

That's when he heard Eliot sigh, a deep, bone weary sigh, and gruffly whisper, "Thanks."

Clint opened his eyes and turned his head a fraction to the side in order to get a better look at Eliot. Their eyes met and he frowned at the hints of despair and lust that still lingered beneath Eliot's hooded lids. These sessions were supposed to be helping alleviate those, but lately they seemed to be making things worse.

"Don't thank me until you get a look at those cuts on your shoulders," Clnt advised, reaching behind him to shove his belt off the bed and out of sight onto the floor. No reason to tempt Eliot into asking for a second beating or another go 'round of rough sex.

"Nothing I ain't already used to," Eliot said, brushing aside Clint's concern. He turned away, his movements stiff and awkward as he stood to pull his boxer briefs up over his legs and hips.

Christ, Clint cursed inwardly. Had he really struck him that hard this time? He must've, because in addition to the cuts and stiffness, there were quite a few mottled bruises blooming on Eliot's back, too.

"I worry about that, that you're getting too used to this," Clint muttered, sitting up himself and scooping his boxers off the floor.

He watched as Eliot reached for his t-shirt and frowned, realizing that it was beyond wearing at this point. He tossed it down onto the bed in disgust before reaching for his flannel instead.

"Here, let me patch you up some before you put that on," Clint said, his hands gentle as he pulled the flannel from Eliot's hands and set it aside. He grabbed Eliot's ruined t-shirt and took it over to the sink to pass it under some running water. Then he went back to where Eliot waited and started carefully sponging the wounds on his shoulders. 

He grunted a little as Clint passed the wet cloth over a particularly bad abrasion. 

"I gotta stop meeting up with you like this. My partners are starting to wonder," Eliot said.

"What do you tell them?" 

"I don't," he said gruffly.

"But surely they have some idea when you come home…" Clint paused and then gestured vaguely to Eliot's back. "Like this."

"Hardison thinks I go out and get into bar brawls. Parker, well, I think she might have a clue, but she keeps her thoughts pretty close to the vest most times."

Shit. It was worse than Clint thought if he wasn't even telling Hardison and Parker the truth.

"You should tell them. Or Parker at least," he finally suggested after a long pause, knowing it wasn't really his place to tell Eliot what he should or shouldn't do, but thinking somebody had to and if not him, then who?

"Yeah, well, what do you think I should say?" Eliot asked, wincing agan as Clint dabbed at another raw cut. "Sorry, I love you, but sometimes I just need to get the shit beat out of me?"

Clint stopped cleaning Eliot up and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Maybe?"

"You've got it easier," Eliot said, glancing over his shoulder at Clint. "Natasha gets it."

"Doesn't mean she likes it," Clint murmured. 

Eliot continued as if he hadn't spoken. "Hardison, though. Hell, he's innocent as a sweet baby when it comes to this shit."

Clint took one last pass over Eliot's shoulders with the shirt and then tossed it into the trash. 

Without looking back at Eliot, he started to dress, yanking on his own t-shirt and pulling on his jeans. He had just yanked up the zipper when there was a perfunctory knock on the door and then Natasha came barging into the room without invitation. 

"Fury called," she said without preamble. "He wants us in DC by tomorrow. We've got to get going."

Clint nodded, impressed by her impeccable timing. He briefly wondered if she'd been spying on them, but then quickly dismissed the notion. Natasha might be a bit overprotective of him, but she knew where to draw the line.

"Jesus, Eliot," Natasha exclaimed as she finally got an eyeful of his bruised and battered body. 

Eliot scowled at her. "Hello to you, too, Natasha."

She gave him a cocky little wave in return and his scowl deepend.

"You look even worse than you usually do," she commented dryly.

The scowl turned into a full-out glare. "Did you need something else or…?"

If Clint didn't break this up now, they'd wind up in a full scale pissing match and he wasn't in the mood to deal with that right now. With a frown, he took Natasha by the shoulders and herded her back towards the door. 

"He was having a bit more of an existential crisis than normal. We worked it out."

She looked back at Eliot briefly, opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. She turned back to Clint. "I'll meet you in the car?"

"Yeah. Give me a few minutes and I'll be out."

She nodded sharply and left.

Eliot snorted. "Existential crisis? Big words there, Circus Man."

"Yeah, well, I've had my share." He looked over Eliot's beat up body. "You know, she's not wrong."

"About?"

"Everything," Clint mused sadly. "When we started out, we were just a couple of dumb kids getting some thrills from each other while we worked out all the shit we'd been through." 

"And now we're not. So why do you keep coming back each time I ask?" Eliot asked curiously.

Clint closed his eyes a moment and then leveled a pointed look at Eliot. 

"Because part of me is still that dumb kid from the circus who'd do anything to keep his new friend coming back. And part me is worried you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep this up. But maybe if I'm the one doing the beatings then… I dunno." He shook his head sadly. "Maybe if that's the case I can keep you alive a little longer."

Eliot let out a humorless laugh. "How long you been practicing that little speech?"

Clint blew out a breath. "Long enough. Seriously, Eliot, it was one thing when we were kids but this has gone way past playing around with some kinky sex."

"I don't need any lectures," Eliot grumbled angrily. He turned away from Clint and shrugged on his flannel shirt, but not quickly enough that Clint missed him flinching as the soft cotton made contact with his shredded skin.

"You need a lecture from someone," Clint said, holding his ground. "If not from me, who?"

"There are other guys out there who'd be thrilled to beat the shit out of me _and_ fuck me senseless," he reminded Clint.

"There are other guys who'd be happy to kill you that way, too."

Fuck. This wasn't the way Clint had wanted this to go. But it was too late now to backtrack and besides, he'd meant every word of it. This was getting dangerous. Eliot needed help, and Clint's willing participation in this fucked up relationship wasn't doing him any favors.

"Room's paid up for another two hours," Clint said, shrugging on his hoodie and pocketing his wallet. "Stay as long as you want."

He shot another long, silent look at Eliot, picked up his duffle then turned for the door.

"Clint. Wait," Eliot said quietly.

He pivoted right before he got to the door and the stark fear on Eliot's face gave him a start. 

"I'll do it, ok? I'll talk to Parker. She… Well, she's got enough dark and twisty things in her past that she just might get it."

Clint nodded sharply. He wasn't convinced Eliot would actually do it, but it was out of his hands at this point. He had to trust Eliot would follow through like he said he would, the same way he'd trusted Eliot so many other times in their past. His expression softened somewhat and he nodded again.

"Do that," he finally said and walked out.

Natasha was waiting in the car, popping bubbles with her gum as she tapped her fingers on the dash along to some Taylor Swift song. She stopped as soon as Clint opened the door. He tossed his duffle in the back and slumped into the passenger seat, the emotional and physical activity from the past hour finally taking their toll.

"Everything ok?" she asked, shooting him a concerned look.

"As ok as it can be," he replied cryptically, slouching down into the seat. "So are we going to meet Fury or what?"

She immediately shifted the car into gear and backed out of the parking space, carefully keeping her eyes on the road and off of him, something for which he was eternally grateful.

He let her drive for a while, not speaking until they'd gotten a bit of distance between them and the motel. "He said he's going to talk to Parker."

"You believe him?"

Clint shrugged. He didn't know if he did or not. He hoped he would, but that was really as good as he'd get at this point until Eliot got in touch again. The question was, the next time he got in touch, would it be to see an old friend or because he had a mighty need for another flogging?

Clint closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the pessimistic voice in his head saying it would be for a flogging to go away. It didn't much work. 

Not until he felt the warm, gentle touch of Natasha's small hand on his arm. 

"You aren't responsible for him, you know. He's a grown man. He can make his own decisions," she said softly.

"I know. It's just… We've been in and out of each other's lives for a long time. I feel like I owe him."

She rubbed gently at the skin of his wrist. "You owe yourself, too."

He sighed. "Yeah. I suppose."

She cleared her throat and moved her hand back to the steering wheel, suddenly all business. "I'm glad you agree. Because I took out an insurance policy and texted Parker myself while I was waiting for you."

"Natasha." His voice was full of reproach.

She shrugged, completely unconcerned. "You can't be the only one to carry the burden of this. I didn't tell her anything specific, just tipped Eliot's hand a little so he's forced to have a heart to heart with her."

"Yeah." Clint closed his eyes again and dipped down further in the passenger seat.

"How about I take the first shift, getting us down to Jersey and then you get us the rest of the way to DC?" Natasha asked.

He didn't have the energy to open his eyes and tell her how much he hated navigating the Jersey Turnpike or the greater Washington area, but he was pretty sure she wasn't really looking for his approval so he kept them closed and just nodded. 

Natasha would take care of him, just like she always did, and Parker would take care of Eliot. That's what partners did for each other.


End file.
